Agent of the League
by WinterDuchess
Summary: Cynthia White: former boxer, and currently decorated FBI profiler. Agent White's most recent thesis caused the attention of a certain masked mercenary to fall on her, and as her checkered past is further revealed, it peeks the brute's interest. Will Cynthia manage to survive in a fight against the League of Shadows, or will she accept the destiny her mentor laid out for her?
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello! I'll be taking a break from my other story (The Lioness) for a little bit to get a few chapters out on this story. I do apologize if there are any typos or false lore. I'll be using Christopher Nolan's adaption of Batman (the Dark Knight trilogy), so if you hated his version, welp. Probably shouldn't read this.**

 **Another FYI, I'll be using some Latin throughout this story, but I'll be providing the (hopefully correct) translation for the terms at the end of each chapter (in which Latin is used).**

 **Also please keep in mind I probably will not update as frequently as I would like to. I work usually 6+ days in a row, then run a lot of errands on my days off, so please have patience with me.**

* * *

 _"You must become more than just a man in the mind of your opponent!" a man with short brown hair instructed. "You've grown sluggish. Use your anger to fuel your punches."_

 _The man paced back and forth at the side of a large boxing ring, watching as an adolescent woman with copper hair pulled back in a short ponytail danced around the ring with a man in his mid-20s. Her body was slick with sweat, just like the man before her. She weaved around a combo that was thrown by the man in front of her, dodging with ease._

 _"I am!" the girl huffed, throwing a powerful right hook to her opponent. She could feel the impact as her fist knocked into his jaw. The force of the punch was so great that the man whirled around before collapsing onto the ring's floor. With a heavy sigh, she looked away from the unconscious man on the floor and threw a towel over her shoulder, wiping the sweat from her brow. She leaned on the ropes and looked down at her coach. "And I'm not a man. I'm pretty sure a man can't pull off a forest green sports bra like I can."_

 _"You're focusing your attention on the least important thing I said to you, Jala," he sighed, looking at her wearily._

 _"Come on, Henri, all you do is focus on the negatives, and you wonder where I get it from," she countered._

 _"Come here, Cynthia," Henri urged, taking a step back, gesturing for her to approach him._

 _She ducked under the ropes and slid out of the ring, another exaggerated heavy sigh leaving her. She stubbornly put her hands on her hips, poking it out to the side slightly. She could smell the lecture coming on, and she really didn't want to hear a lecture at the moment. It was always the same thing with him. It was always about how she could do some much more with her life, how she was destined for greater things.  
"Do not be this way," he frowned, putting his hand on her shoulder, and lifting her chin with the other. "I only desire what is best for you, Jala. You are like a daughter to me. My flesh and blood. I cherish you." _

_"I know…" she said, her voice cracking._

 _She could feel the tears swelling up, and she tried to fight it. With a deep breath, she attempted to regain control of herself. The relationship she had with her coach was also something she cherished. He was like a father to her. He was there for her when no one else was, and it made her emotional. She took another deep breath, feeling her nerves calm, helping her relax._

 _"What clouds your thoughts?" he asked suddenly, knowing by her silence and behavior during today's session that her mind was elsewhere._

 _"I have news," she admitted, looking at him from under her lashes. "I… I got accepted into Columbia University."_

" _That's wonderful news, Jala. I knew they would enroll you. They'd be fools to deny you," he praised, pulling her into a hug. "Do not fret over the cost. I will support you."_

" _Wait… You'll pay for my college?" she asked, breaking the hug slightly to look at him._

" _Of course. I told you when we met that I'd care for you. College is included," he stroked her hair, looking down at her. "I told you not to worry over it though. I will handle things. Now, you should return home. It is getting late."_

" _All right… Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked._

" _Yes. I will pick you up from school. Tomorrow we will celebrate," he smiled._

" _Vale, Henri," she bowed before gathering her sports bag and bolting out of the gym._

* * *

 **Vale - "be well"**


	2. Chapter 1: The Thesis

In the Federal Bureau of Investigation of New York, a unit chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit sat in her office on a late summer morning. Her thick copper hair was tied back in a groomed bun, the top two buttons of her dark teal blouse were undone with a fan humming on her desk. Piles of file folders rested on the dark oak, sorted between what she had completed and what still needed to be done. The woman's attention was elsewhere though, as she read through a thick packet.

"From his speech in Gotham alone, it is clear that he has a liberator complex, and is exceedingly intelligent. However, he is also twisted, believing that the criminals such as rapists and murderers deserve to rule a city, instead of hard-working citizens. While I personally agree that many businessmen are corrupt, and steal from the poor, not all are thieves. We must have faith in the human race. We must have faith that we can grow stronger, and love one another. We must remember that we are all human," she said, reading it aloud.

"You certainly have a way with words, Agent White. You should have majored in Poetry," someone said, standing in the doorway of her office.

"You should know better than to sneak up on someone, Moretti," she said, not even bothering to look up.

"I've yet to see anyone manage to catch you off guard," he smiled.

"What do you need?" she asked.

"There's a reporter here to see you. Says he wants an exclusive," he replied.

"We have liaisons for a reason," she said in a slightly annoyed tone.

"Yeah, but this guy might peak your interest. Says he was in Gotham during the attack."

At this, Cynthia finally looked up with her eyebrows rose in shock, and her lips pursed every so slightly. She leaned back in her chair and groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Did he show his press badge?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed.

"Show him in," she sighed.

As Cynthia waited for the reporter to come in, she looked over her desk. She swept an arm over the desk, pushing all of her files into a pile, straightening it out and leaving her thesis in the center of the desk. Something seemed off about all of this, so she put her gun where she could easily access it.

"Ma'am,"

Cynthia looked up to see Moretti was back in her doorway, with a man in a raggedy suit, and stubble on his face. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and looked indifferent about everything. She stared at him for a moment to get a read on him before glancing back over to Moretti. With a short nod, Moretti knew he was dismissed, and left.

"Close the door and sit down please," she instructed.

The reporter nodded and walked further into the office. He closed the door behind him and walked over to her desk. He held his hand out for her to shake, giving her a friendly smile as he offered her his hand. "I'm John Barsad."

"This interview of yours must be pretty important if you have the nerve to show up at my place of work and not give prior notice, Mr. Barsad," she said, making it clear that she wasn't going to shake his hand. "What is this interview even for?"

"Uh… I'm writing a book, ma'am," he answered, sitting down across from her.

"About?" she grimaced as she noticed he sat without her giving the approval to do so.

"Well, it is about the greatest federal agents of our country. I want to find out your first assignment, and how it affected you," he announced.

She couldn't help but snort at his attempt of flattery. She wasn't exactly great, she had a great success rate for missions, but as an individual and as an agent, she was as bland as they came. What made it even more laughable what that he was claiming she was one of the best in the country. She stifled a giggle that threatened to escape her lips, and settled for nodding in agreement.

When he saw her nod of agreement to the interview, his eyes had a faint gleam of interest in them. He reached into his bookbag, not even needing to search as he pulled out a notepad and a pen. _"He's organized."_ Cynthia thought as she watched him. He flipped through the pages until he got to his question sheet then looked at her, nodding.  
"What is your name and title?" he asked.

"Cynthia Jasmine White: Supervisory Special Agent, and commanding unit chief for my squad," she answered swiftly.

"How long have you worked with the BAU?"

"It'll be nine years in December," she said.

"Tell me about your first mission," he demanded after he wrote down her first two answers.  
"My first mission was… as bad as any mission could be, other than death," she explained, the memory of it flashing back to her so quickly that she hadn't even realized that he was making demands to her.

"We were called into California. There was a serial killer who attacked families. Charles Sullivan. He would break in, and overpower the father, then force him to watch as he raped the mother. After he was done with her, he'd tie her up to and bring the child from their room. He would then rape the child, in front of their parents, then he'd make the child watch as he killed their parents. I thought we'd never catch him," she admitted.

Barsad eagerly wrote down what she said, nodding for her to continue.

"My unit chief and I were taken hostage by Sullivan, along with the victims' child. He made us watch as he raped that poor boy again, and again. And when he got tired of the boy, he tried to rape my boss. He fought back, and was killed," she gave a heavy sigh, shifting in her chair. "And then Sullivan turned to me. He smiled and told the boy that he needed to rape me. The boy refused, and so Sullivan stabbed him… I held that boy, and I managed to keep him alive as my team stormed in, took Sullivan into custody."

"How did that feel?" he asked.

""I didn't feel anything. I had seen the worst of humanity, I was expected to quit and choose a different profession. I didn't. Eight years after I faced Sullivan, I faced another. The Golden State Snatcher. It was my first mission as acting unit chief. It ended in a shoot-out, and I killed him. I tried to save him though, so he could face justice. He died in my arms." she looked at him for the first time, her eyes seemed dead. "Do you know who the Golden State Snatcher was?"

"He was a child molster that stole kids from the playgrounds," he answered, frowning.

"His name was Tommy Jones. He was the last victim of Sullivan's. He was the little boy I fought to keep alive… and I'm the one who ending up killing him," she said.

"That was never mentioned in any articles…"

"My team didn't know, and you'll see I have a habit of becoming a ghost if I want," she leaned towards him, whispering it.

"How did you feel about killing someone?" he asked.

"I've killed many in my lifetime, it comes with the job," she said bluntly.

"How did it feel though?" he pressed.

Cynthia narrowed her eyes at his press for an answer. She pulled open her top desk drawer and took out her glock. She placed it calmly on the desk, looking back at Barsad with a serious expression. He didn't even flinch at the gesture, and she hadn't really expected him to. Her profile on him was already completed.

"You lose your humanity doing this job, Mr. Barsad, that's my final comment. Now get out," she growled.

"Is that your latest thesis?" he asked, not leaving as she had instructed him to do.

"It is," she nodded after a moment.

"May I?" he asked again.

She waved a dismissive hand, pushing it towards him. The man calmly took it from her, taking a moment to read the title of the thesis before securing it into a folder and into his bag. He threw it onto his back as he rose to her feet. He offered her his hand to shake goodbye, but when she reached for the gun out of instinct, he lowered his hand and nodded to her once. He closed the door behind him as he departed.  
She sighed and reached for her phone, dialing a number then spoke. "Gomez, it's White. I need you to do a background check on someone. John Barsad. Supposedly a reporter but I believe he has something of a military background. Brown hair, blue eyes. Average height. Possible muscular build. I want everything on him. Even his 1st grade report card."

She lazily looked at the clock on her wall after she hung up the phone, and a loud groan left her, it wasn't even noon yet. Turning to have her chair face the window, her jade hues stared blankly out the window, her mind fogged with who this reporter actually was, and what lied ahead. She could smell the trouble that was coming, and she waited. It would come, she could feel it. All she needed to do was be ready for it. 


End file.
